Girl Nobody Noticed
by WeirdMe
Summary: Hello. It's me. But you never noticed. So goodbye, because shadows were all I had . . . One Shot. Plus Zach's POV.
1. Chapter 1

Trees are green. The sky is blue. Basic facts you know. Then, what if someone took that green and turned it into blue. Gave you bright blue leaves. They turned the sky into green. And they shake the ground you lay on so you take cautions, scared steps because you know what it feels like to have the World rock beneath your feet.  
….. *… . …* …

"I'm scared Zach," a young girl whispers to her friend in the dark.

It was hot. Summertime, then fall and first grade, Zachary Goode thought as he sat by his best friend in a treehouse with sleeping bags and flashlights. The adults, of course, were sleeping in sleeping bags right under the treehouse. He wasn't listening to his friend. Just fiddling with his sleeping bag and trying to stay awake. And the young girl, the same age as Zach, knew that. She was smart for her age, lovely looks, pretty, but not gorgeous. Her name was Cammie, Cameron actually, and knew her best friend probably would forget by morning, but didn't mind. She heard Zach fiddling with the sleeping bag's zipper, and snuggled more into hers, even if it was about seventy to eighty degrees out. She still felt the cold and shivered.

"You know how my daddy died last Christmas? Mommy started drinking stuff ever since then. It's in bottles and smells terrible. I took a sip once; mama smacked me so hard I saw God on the wall. But that's okay, mama doesn't know I exist; smacking is the only way I know she knows it's me . . . her daughter. But she's forgetting. The smackings are decreasing. Don't forget me Zach."

Zach muttered in a drowsy voice, "I promise not to forget you." And fell asleep.  
.. …*… .* …

You know the smells of the past? Of your mama's cookies and grandpa's old pipe smell. These are memories of the home, of love and caring. Then, there are the ones that aren't . . .  
.. … *.. … *..

"Zach, I'm being forgotten," a girl whispers in the dark.

It was the beginning of summer, and Zach felt great, and mature, a man, though; he was far from being one. Little fourth grader Zach thought a lot about himself, especially since he will be a fifth grader next year. And being a man, grabbed a bottle of liquor from his father's cabinet because his father only used that cabinet for celebrations, and this was celebration enough so he grabbed a brown, clear bottle with something sloshing inside. Zach thought it was terrible and had a bitter taste, but a real man wouldn't care. So he drank with his best friend, Cammie Morgan, at his side, though, she never had a sip. They sat in their treehouse, no longer needing adults below at the tree roots to protect them. It was hot, about eighty, yet Cammie was snuggled under her sleeping bag like snow was breaking down the door. Zach was feeling things go blurry.

"Mom stopped hitting me, Zach. She finally forgot about me," she paused and listened to his calm, breathy breaths, "I'm also glad school's over. People kept getting my name wrong. Macey, Macey McHenry called me Carol. And I was always picked last for gym. You wouldn't know this because you aren't in any of my classes anymore. Don't forget about me Zach."

Zach finds Cammie's hand in the dark and kisses her knuckles. "I promise not to forget about you." Then he passed out. But Cammie knew he would, and he wouldn't remember this conversation by morning.  
. … *.. ..*.. .

We all are a little bit like shadows . . . forgotten even in the brightest light.  
.. *… …*..

"Zach, I'm turning into walls," a young teen whispers into the dark.

But no response was heard because Zachary Goode was sick. Terribly delusional, but still, Cammie Morgan dragged her best friend away from his room to talk in a treehouse because she was afraid of anyone else hearing them besides someone who will forget by morning. Or see it as a dream. Not only that, the warm air outside will be like millions of blankets on his skin. Better than the cold, air conditioned house. It was about eighty-five degrees in the summer before ninth grade.

"No one sees me unless I wave my hand way up in the air. I always work alone on assignments because they think I'm a new student and they feel awkward around me when I tell them I'm not. I don't want them to feel awkward. Mom doesn't talk to me anymore. I know she ignored me before, but sometimes she talked," she paused and breathed, "She asked me to buy her cigarettes once, but she doesn't even do that anymore. And I lied to my teacher about her being sick so she couldn't come to conferences. I just told them that because I knew she would never come, and I didn't want the teachers to be sad or disappointed," and in a tiny voice she whispered, "like I am." She put her hand in his, "Please don't make me disappear. I don't want to be forgotten."

And like a lullaby repeating he whispered, "I promise not to forget about you." And fell into a daydream. Cammie kissed his cheek and started bringing him back to his room.  
.. …*.. ..*…

Words were lost because of kisses in the dark.  
.. .. *.. ..*…. ..

"Zach," her fingers brushed softly through his hair, "I can feel you becoming someone better than someone who would hang with me."

Zachary Goode was not listening. He was asleep with his head tucked in his girlfriend's neck. He could not agree or disagree. One month anniversary and here they sat in the treehouse of childhood. His chocolate brown hair tickling her neck, and his mint green eyes hidden under eyelids. The summer sky, the summer air . . . the first day of summer. Yesterday, the last day of tenth grade and Zach was asleep. About three in the morning it was, and Cammie sat in his arms.

"They wonder. Everyone does. _What are you doing with her_, they ask. People know your name, people don't know mine. You're the few people who can call Bex by the name of Rebecca. And she doesn't hit you . . . like she would with me. Your parents wonder why we didn't grow apart. They know me, but I have changed, and so have they. My mother talked to me," and for once joy entered her voice on those few syllables, "asked me," then her voice went back to grieving, "why people like you hanged out with shadows like me. Why you didn't have someone else. Plenty of prettier girls she said then went back to watching TV with that cigarette hanging out of her mouth and beer in hand." She swallowed something thick down her throat, "And now, she hasn't talked to me since then. Don't forget about me, please. I don't want to disappear. You're all I have."

He didn't talk because he was asleep. So she did. "I promise not to forget about you," she whispered to herself. And Cammie kissed him on the cheek, because that's what she would've of done, if he heard, and had said those words.  
.. .. *.. …* ..

Hello. It's me. But you never noticed. So goodbye, because shadows were all I had . . .  
. ... ..*.. … *..

"Happy Birthday," she whispered to herself in a treehouse in the dark. But in the cold.

She blew out the one match. It was the candle of Hell's dreams. In the treehouse she sat, knowing her boyfriend would never come because he forgot this morning, this evening, and now it was night. And he was at a party with prettier girls, with plastic red cups that smelled like her home. And his parents weren't home, out on a date, forgetting _her_ on _her_ birth date. And as the match's smoke disappeared, she began to sing in the cold, January air.

"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Cammie, happy birthday to you. How old are you?" And answered back to her own echo,"17," and swallowed the pills, and slashed the wrists, she fell asleep, and never woke up.

The wind sung back, "I promise to never remember you" because the promise was broken.  
.. …*.. … .*.. …

You forgot.  
.. … *. .. .*..

**Author's Note: . . . Review? **

**Thanks cammieXzachxx, Beta person. **


	2. Six Steps

**Author's Note: So, my very first note **_**before**_** the reading, well, somewhat . . . I never intended to do a Zach's POV for this story. Most people who write stories like these usually don't, and I was going to be one of them. I wasn't originally going to, until I got inspiration from a song. So, enjoy, and it's not exactly, "Zach's POV of the whole incident," but it does show what happened next. I better get lots of reviews since I'm finally writing this, ha, I'm kidding, enjoy!**

And he stood there, wondering. Because sometimes they leave, no note, nothing but you wondering again and again because what can you do but just that. Wonder. Who wouldn't leave a note? Why didn't they? Was it rash thinking? Did she not think of him? He didn't understand and all he could do was wonder, and wonder some more. Because that was all he could do.

Until you remember. Until you remember being stressed because everyone was depending on you. And you were failing, maybe would be held back, and you wanted to drink because being drunk made you forget. Forget a lot of things. Even her birthday. Ever your own name. Even your life. Then, you wake up on someone's living room couch with puke on your shirt. And you walk home with your head pounding, then you see the sirens and the ambulance. But you're too hungover to be worried. To care. But the police tape was around your yard, but you still didn't raise an eyebrow. Because you still didn't care. Because it didn't matter but you getting home and getting some Advil. Until you see your mom crying and she wraps her arms around you. Doesn't matter that you have puke on your shirt, you are alive. That's all that matters. Because while you were getting drunk that night, your mother went to grab the blankets from your old childhood treehouse and she saw an old friend with bleeding wrists and passed out from too many pills. And then you begin to wonder why.

So here you sit. Knowing what happened, but still not knowing why? Why? Why? Why? And you wonder why you weren't able to stop it, and how you missed all the signs. And how come she didn't tell you anything. You wonder why you weren't able to save her life, and maybe that's what haunts the most. Besides, it's only been ten years. Only ten years.

_**Step One: Stay Awake**_

_It was hot . . . it was summer._

_She was under the sleeping bag. _

_But it wasn't cold._

_And whispered._

_And she whispered._

_About being forgotten._

_And he promised to never forget her._

_And then he fell asleep._

_Because he was so tired._

_And he was only a child._

_A little child._

But now the air wasn't hot. And he was awake, but it was too late. He never slept anymore because you missed too many things by sleeping. He drank coffee, a lot of coffee, when he didn't even like coffee, but it kept him awake.

_**Step Two: Don't Drink**_

_He wanted to be a man._

_He thought drinking would make him a man._

_His father drank on celebrations._

_He drank because fourth grade was over._

_And whispered._

_And she whispered._

_About being forgotten._

_And he promised to never forget her. _

_And he passed out because he drank too much._

He didn't drink anymore. Never touched a single glass since that morning of police tape and sirens. Even at Prom, when someone spiked the punch. He never touched it.

_**Step Three: Stay Healthy **_

_He was sick._

_He was delusional._

_A preteen._

_And the air was warm._

_Like blankets._

_And whispered._

_And she whispered._

_About being forgotten._

_And he promised to never forget her._

_And he fell into daydreams of something's that weren't real. _

He was rarely sick now. He ate healthy, and coughed into his shoulder, and took his meds. He was healthy and fine and okay. But only physically.

_**Step Four: Don't be a Heavy Sleeper**_

_He was asleep._

_He was a teenager._

_And whispered._

_And she whispered._

_About being forgotten._

_And she made the promise._

_Because he was sleeping._

He's a light sleeper now. The slightest creak or whisper waking him up. But it was too late now, because back then, he wasn't.

_**Step Five: Be There**_

_He was getting drunk._

_On her birthday._

_Because he forgot._

_Because he was stressed._

_And no was there to make the promise._

_And so she swallowed the pills._

_And slit the wrists._

Now, he had no one. He pushed everyone away, even his own parents. So he didn't have to be there for anyone. Even himself.

_**Step Six: Remember**_

No flashbacks this time. No flashbacks but the present. So he sank to his knees, and wished her a happy birthday. At her grave. Even if he was a little too late. And he sang, "Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Cammie, happy birthday to you." And he leaned real close to the stone, "You would be twenty-seven today. I promise not to forget about you. Ever. Not even on your birthday."

.. .* .. .* .

He remembered.

**Author's Note: So, I wrote it, and I like it, and went 'round in one big circle, well, any guesses to the song that inspired me to write it? Here, I'll give you a hint, it's by the Fray. And, I'm going to take a break from writing, I have a posted a one shot almost every week, and when I write too much, I feel like it's not very good quality, so I'll take a break, and review my work and hopefully I'll still like it. Plus, maybe actually start a story, and I have a pile of books here I need to read, so I hope this was good, like I said, if I write too much I feel it might be bad quality. Also, I'm currently reading, "A Certain Slant of Light," by Laura Whitcomb, very good so far and I recommend it! Bye. **


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